The Beginning of After

Nana,” I said.
    She was holding one of Toby’s down parkas, petting it. “I don’t know if I can either, sweetie. That’s why we should do it together and do it fast, before I change my mind.”
    “Just the coats?”
    “Just the coats. For now.”
    I nodded, biting my lip as the tears came burning through, and laid the cashmere coat on the dining room table.
    I said, “This will be the Keep pile.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

    O n Thanksgiving morning, Nana and I were prepping to make stuffing by hand and sweet-potato casserole, when she discovered, with horror, that she was missing something.
    “How could I forget the marshmallows?” she asked, planting her arms on the kitchen counter as if she might faint from shock. “I’ve been making that casserole for forty years!”
    “Nana, relax. The store’s still open, and I’ll go get some,” I told her.
    “And why doesn’t your mother own a Dutch oven? Did she never make anything for more than four people at a time?”
    “What do you think?” I said, trying to make her laugh, but she didn’t, so I added, “I’m sure one of the neighbors has one you can borrow.”
    I knew Nana was mostly stressed because she’d hoped to do her trip home during the past week, to get it done before the holidays. We’d spent a half day rounding up every coat we could find and donated eight boxes’ worth to people who’d need them. She felt like she was on a roll, and ready to do the same thing at her own house. But at the last minute, she said she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to travel. “Besides,” she’d told me, “nobody’s going to rent a house or buy a condo before January anyway.” I agreed with her but knew it was because she didn’t want to leave me alone.
    We were going to the Dills’ for Thanksgiving dinner. It was never discussed, just simply assumed.
    Last year, I would have been thrilled to be invited to the Dill Thanksgiving. My family didn’t do the holiday well. I guess with no aunts or uncles or cousins to share it with, the pressure was off. Usually we drove up to Nana’s and ate at the Holiday Inn, where Toby and I could hang out in the arcade until the turkey arrived. Or on rare years when I could convince my mother to have dinner at home, she always went upstairs to lie down for fifteen minutes before dessert. We never played games and we never had friends over, or even went around the table saying what we were thankful for. Traditions like that never seemed important to my parents.
    But down at Megan’s, Mrs. Dill was serving up dinner for twenty-five, and I was ready for the Great American Thanksgiving I’d never had.
    “If you leave right now,” said Nana, “you can pick up the marshmallows. I’ll go down to the Mitas’ and see if they have a pot for us.”
    Twenty minutes later, I was driving home from the grocery store with two bags of marshmallows on the passenger seat, thinking about how the checkout clerk had laughed at my purchase and said, “Thanksgiving is just awesome.”
    I came up our hill a little fast, not paying attention, and swung into the driveway.
    But where I was going, there was already another car parked.
    I had to swerve to avoid hitting it, and once my car stopped, I sat for a moment, letting that adrenaline subside.
    The day was overcast and with no sunlight, at first the car looked colorless. As I caught my breath, I could see what it was.
    Mr. Kaufman , I thought, blinking hard.
    No, you idiot. Mr. Kaufman’s car. Which means David.
    A new adrenaline shot through my body, this one a little different, and I forced myself to sit there for another few moments, wanting yet not wanting that excitement.
    Finally, I checked myself in the mirror—unshowered, wearing sweatpants, but I’d looked worse—and got out of the car. The Jaguar was splattered with fresh mud, and as I approached it I touched my finger to the rear bumper. It left a dirty wet smudge on my hand that I didn’t wipe off.
    Through the window, I could see David passed out in the front seat, his hands still on the steering wheel.
    I watched him for a few seconds, wondering what to do next. Finally, I knocked twice softly on the window.
    It was strange to watch him wake up. David’s eyelids fluttered, and I noticed for the first time how long and thick his lashes were. Then his eyes popped open, that surprising roundness. He saw me and startled, and a laugh jumped out of me that I instantly regretted.
    David sat up and threw open